Chapter 14
I lie in bed the next morning almost scared to get up. And that’s unheard of. I’m always up early, whether it’s a weekday or a weekend. In the gym by six on weekdays, showered by seven, and in the office by eight. On Saturdays, in the gym by eight and M then it starts travelling down the stream slowly, through rushes and water lilies, getting faster and faster and faster, until it eventually sweeps up into the air and reveals Arlington Hall in all its glittering, sunlit glory. I exhale at the sight, my skin prickling, my heart pounding. Incredible.
I get a tour of the grounds, the walled garden off the kitchen full of freshly grown produce, the maze, the golf course, the tennis courts, a glimpse of the outside section of the pool. I watch as guests are greeted, a helicopter lands, plates of art are served in the Orangery, and golf carts rumble across the hilly planes of the course. It’s another world of luxury, and I smile when Clinton appears, showing off with a cocktail shaker, spinning it, tossing it, catching it, and then a close-up of the drink being poured into a glass with a palm leaf. Hey Jude.
I breathe in.
And then the suites. Lavish furniture, enormous beds, and white marble bathrooms, all with roll-top, clawfoot bathtubs. Showers big enough to fit an average-size family in comfortably, twin sinks, and vanity cabinets that could probably house the cosmetics department at Selfridges.
No expense spared.
Evelyn Harrison’s dream.
And it’s absolutely stunning.
I call Abbie and Charley, and their faces pop up on the screen. It’s the fastest both of them have ever answered. “I’m in a Rolls-Royce,” I say, turning the screen around so they can both appreciate the lavish interior of the car. “With a chauffeur. His name’s Humphrey.”
“Is that Amelia?” I hear my mum say. Fuck. I quickly get my face back in the phone, giving Abbie wide eyes.
“No, it’s Charley,” Abbie sings, her screen jumping as she removes herself from the vicinity of my mother. “Sorry.” She shrugs. “I think she bought it.”
“So you’re going,” Charley says, a mug at her lips.
“I’m going.” I can’t not go. And not because I dare not refuse, but because Jude Harrison is a drug, and my addiction is real.
“I want details later,” Abbie says. “If you come home, that is.”
I never thought about that. Will I be home later? My stomach flutters, and it’s the oddest feeling. Anticipation. I hardly want to admit that, for the first time in my life, I’m excited about something that doesn’t involve numbers. Excited and apprehensive. “Okay.”
“Are you nervous?” Charley asks.
“I don’t know what to expect.”
“A good seeing to, I’d say.” Abbie laughs.
“You’re terrible.” Charley scorns her, disgusted. “Besides, Amelia’s number one rule is not putting out on a first date.”
“Yes,” I say, nodding in agreement. But this feels like more than a first date.
“So you’re just going to have a massage, maybe a facial, and have dinner with him?”
I nod, unable to confirm it with words. “I’ll call you both later. I just wanted to let you know I’m on my way.” They both nod, blowing kisses at the screen before it goes blank.
I settle back and close my eyes.
Just have dinner with him, like a regular first date. That’s what I should do. Problem is, Jude Harrison has proved all my rules are null and void where he’s concerned. So I can’t promise anything. And I won’t commit. If I commit and fail, I’ll feel like I’ve let myself down. So I will simply see how today plays out and take it one minute at a time.